onotob

I usually try to avoid South By Southwest (henceforth The Festival), the media/music/film festival that blows through Austin every March. Thousands of people converge on Austin, parking is a nightmare, the interstate is a river of molasses, and the lines for everything are long. But there was something special up there this year: Feist.

You see, I am dying to see Feist live. She’s only been touring in Europe, with a few scattered dates Stateside (New York and California mainly). Sometime last week, Jon sent me a link to the Urban Outfitters web site and instructs me to scroll down the list of acts to Saturday. There, in 9 point Verdana, is her name. Feist. For 25 minutes on Saturday March 19. After recovering the ability to speak, I begin to make plans. A place to stay, where to meet up, and so forth and so on.

I rolled into Austin at about 2:00 PM on Saturday, two and a half hours early for the show. (I am going to make it.) A quick phone call to Jon and the plans were set. Meet at Jen’s apartment, follow him into town, park, walk. Simple enough.

Jon was going to try and catch the Doves doing an in-store at Waterloo Records. The plan was to follow him to that general area, then split off and try and find parking closer to my destination. We arrived at the point of separation and found traffic into downtown backed up. Far. Faced with a choice between struggling with traffic and hoping to find a place to park, or parking here and walking, I chose walking. At least I would be making progress while all these saps were stuck in a traffic jam. The time was 3:15. (I am going to make it.)

Now, the walk from 11th and Lamar to 6th and I-35 is about one and a half miles. I was a man on a mission. Driven. My pace was quick and steady, my strides were long, but not sure. There was one problem: I recently started working out again and the day before I did my lower body set for the first time in months. I did not have complete control of my legs. If one were to have followed me the entire distance one would probably have thought that I was intoxicated. I found myself, at times, unable to lift my feet over small obstacles, or locking my knee before my foot had finished making the descent into a dip in the concrete. But I was determined. I carried on. (I am going to make it.)

I made great time. Even with a quick pit stop to chat with a friend I bumped into on the street I arrived at Urban Outfitters at 3:45, 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Winded and flushed I entered one of the two lines forming outside the venue and examined the situation. This being my first time at The Festival I had no idea how entry worked.

After failing to ascertain the mechanics of entry from simple observation, I took a more straightforward approach: I asked the bouncer. In my head this was a simple plan, but my uncooperative legs caused me to have to make at least three attempts to get over the ropes, almost bringing the connected pedastal down with each attempt. I’m pretty sure this solidified the idea of me as a staggering drunk in the minds of all present.

Finally, I approached the bouncer.

“Hey, how do I get in?”

“It’s RSVP only. Did you register on the web site?”

[I’m pretty sure the sound of my heart breaking was audible, but I answered anyway.]

“No. No I didn’t.”

(I did not make it.)

At approximately 3:50 PM I started walking back up 6th street in search of a plan B. I didn’t remain in my state of self-pity for long before my oh-so-helpful Fuck It philosophy kicked in and I started making phone calls. As luck would have it Jon was finished failing in his own mission to see some live music (apparently the Doves rocked, even from the parking lot) and was on his way to pick up his girlfriend to have some lunch. After a lovely meal at Thai Tara I was re-energized and ready to be crushed over and over again.

Luckily for me, The Festival was more than willing.

To make a long story short, Jon, Jen and I stood in about 5 lines for shows and didn’t get into a single one. We were sans badges or armbands, which means we were gutter trash in the eyes of the venues. We stood in the cash line. Apparently, known terrorists are let in before people in the cash line. At the end of the night we found ourselves in the Red Fez (OK) watching a local band (decent) and drinking (excellent). We made one last attempt to get into a show (Phoenix), gave up, went home and watched Blind Date until we passed out.

Even with all of the setbacks I didn’t come away with a distaste for the whole experience. With a little more planning a great time could be had at The Festival. In fact, Jon had great luck on Friday, getting into the Radio 4 show at La Zona Rosa.

Also, the new Prefuse 73 album, Surrounded by Silence, came out today, so it is practically impossible for me to be in a bad mood about practically anything.

Posted at 4:54 am.